


Firsts and Lasts

by ooihcnoiwlerh



Series: Do You Believe [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, F/F, Growing Old Together, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Switching, follows Do You Believe and coincides with Facing Home, follows the previous entries in this series, non-canon after 3.06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooihcnoiwlerh/pseuds/ooihcnoiwlerh
Summary: Time changes, as do people, but sometimes it's possible to stay together through the ephemera and the chaos.





	Firsts and Lasts

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a series of headcanons about Ed and Oswald's romantic/sex life as it applies to the AU series I built up for myself, and has expanded somewhat. Not a lot of plot, just feelings and small milestones.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank figmentof for being kind enough to give this a once over and advice before I set up the first chapter.

The night they make love for the first time isn’t their first time sharing a bed, but the first night they’ve slept together completely nude, exposed, and, after a night, of, well…

Ed wakes up first, per usual, and with morning wood, per usual, and curled up behind Oswald, holding onto him, per usual, in a position that feels so instinctively _right_ for them both, and has since the first night they slept in the same bed and woke together, disheveled and utterly in love.

This time, though, Ed sees the faint protrusion of Oswald’s ribs as he inhales each breath, sees his soft, scarred stomach and pale chest as the sheets fell to his midriff through the night and, as Ed absently pulls a still-sleeping Oswald closer to him, his hand brushes what is also—unmistakably—a morning erection.

Ed sighs into Oswald’s hair.  He won’t do anything to stimulate Oswald while he’s asleep, but he does entertain notions of leisurely morning sex, of mingling morning breath and skin sliding against, slapping against skin before a joined shower, brushing teeth side-by-side and dressing each other for the day.  He wants all of it.  Anything Oswald’s willing to give him, and after all Oswald’s given him already.

Scant moments later Oswald stirs and turns in Ed’s arms to face him.

He looks contented and so purely at ease with this new step they’ve taken.  He grins, soft and crooked and leans up as he wraps a hand around the nape of Ed’s neck to kiss him.  The rumble of Oswald’s soft laughter against Ed’s lips, the whisper of, “ _Morning, handsome_.” 

This is what Ed’s also wanted, and now has somehow in the best show of luck in his life.

Ed repeats the sentiment, and he almost groans as Oswald’s hands slide down his body and wrap around Ed’s waist, pulling him in; Ed’s cock brushes against Oswald’s stomach, and Oswald’s in turn against Ed’s hip as he rolls onto his back, pulls Ed atop him, and spreads his legs so Ed can fit between them.

Ed _does_ groan, suddenly far more awake, as Oswald grips Ed’s ass and grinds up into Ed’s weight.

“Do you have an affinity for my ass?” he asks against Oswald’s lips, laughing a little at Oswald’s mischievous grin as Oswald holds him close.

“It’s a nice ass,” Oswald retorts, and swats in proof at Ed’s asscheek.

Ed’s utterly stunned as he jumps at the contact and buries his face in the crux of Oswald’s neck, chuckling alongside him as they slide against each other, groping blindly at exposed skin.  The unexpected compliment thrills him nearly as much as the intimate touch.  It’s utterly intoxicating, Oswald’s naked attraction to him.  Ed’s always been a combination of comfortable with and indifferent to his own appearance, and while has never seen himself as ugly, also never thought himself exceptionally attractive.  He doesn’t need to.  The one person whose opinion on his looks matters is looking at him now as though he’s the handsomest man in the world.

“Anything else you like about me?” Ed asks, and grips Oswald’s cock, jerks him slowly.

Oswald immediately arches and gasps at the touch, his good leg bending at the knee, toes curling as Ed swipes his thumb along the tip. 

“Everything,” Oswald tells him.  “There’s nothing about you I don’t like.”  He whines as Ed moves his hand faster and grips Ed tighter. 

Ed grins, unable to hide his smug satisfaction in Oswald’s praise, his pretty noises and utterly gorgeous face as he opens himself to Ed, and suddenly he can’t stand it.  He mostly refrained last night, but he wants to know how Oswald tastes, how he’d react with someone’s lips wrapped around his cock.

“Will you let me go down on you?” he asks, nips the space below Oswald’s ear before pressing a kiss to his collarbone.  Oswald’s body fascinates him; the twisted musculature, the history of his scars, the array of imperfections that make him almost perversely beautiful.

Oswald whimpers as Ed kisses along the column of his pale throat.  It takes him a couple of tries when Ed’s hand is still wrapped around him, but he manages to ask, “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ed replies, stopping just short of biting down on Oswald’s adam’s apple—he doesn’t know if biting is acceptable, and doesn’t want to tempt fate. 

The moment he feels Oswald give a jerky nod Ed descends the length of his torso and slides his hands along the tops of Oswald’s thighs.

He must consider the obvious: Oswald does feel some sexual attraction, if the night before is any indication, and can enjoy intimate acts with Ed, but he’s still hypersensitive to touch, still awkward around his own body, still far less of a sexual creature than Ed.  He’ll stop if Oswald asks; he always will.  But Oswald has always obliged him, and might not want to ask Ed to stop even if he’s uncomfortable.  It’s up to Ed to ask if Oswald really wants the same things Ed does.

Ed glances up at Oswald, at half-lidded long lashes and pale eyes watching him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Ed wraps a hand around Oswald’s cock, presses the other down on Oswald’s hip.  He senses no hesitation.

Ed wraps his mouth around the tip and Oswald moans immediately, arching up and breathing heavily, and Ed’s ego increases tenfold.  He’s researched it, fantasized about performing oral sex as well as having it performed on him, and read (watched, when he could) about effective techniques, but has nonexistent real-life practice in giving or receiving.  However, Oswald is even less experienced than he is, and far more sensitive to touch.  Ed’s amateur efforts will still be effective with Oswald.

And, sloppy as Ed is, Oswald cries out when Ed ducks his head and manages to take most of his length in one swallow, and whines when Ed pulls back to coordinate his breath.  His hips are pinned under Ed’s grasp but he draws his good leg up, arches his spine and tenses like a drawn bow as Ed takes him in as deep as he can.

“ _Ed_ ,” Oswald tells him, voice quavering and thighs trembling once Ed has worked up a rhythm, sliding his tongue along Oswald’s base and lips wrapped tight around him.  The warning is clear both in his voice and the way one of his hands tries to pull Ed off him.

Ed grips his hand and twines it in his own and ignores the warning, working Oswald through an orgasm that hits the back of Ed’s throat. 

He was right; he enjoys this, enjoys the power of taking someone with his mouth and making them moan and tremble beneath his ministrations, knowing that he can satisfy them, that they enjoy his touch.  He feels a rush of pride in knowing that Oswald, the toughest, cruelest man he’s ever known and one who’s faced extreme physical trauma, trusts him like this.

He leans up and watches Oswald slowly open his eyes and pull Ed up to him, kiss him chaste on the lips before pressing kisses to his cheek and jaw.

“Thank you,” Ed tells him.  The words slip out before he knows how to make them seem poised; he doesn’t know how to speak when in love, when consummated.  He just knows he’s grateful and he feels wanted. 

Through the fuzz of hazy morning sight he sees Oswald crinkle his eyebrows.  “Why?  For what?”

“For trusting me with your body.  So many other people have harmed it, so many other people have hurt you.”  Ed kisses Oswald’s neck.  “I told you before that I’m in awe of you.  I am.  And that you trust me this much.”  He kisses Oswald’s lips once, twice, thrice, before pulling away.  “I’m honored, Oswald,” he tells him, “that you let me touch you like this.”

 “Do you want me to touch you?” Oswald asks.  Ed draws back, kneeling before Oswald’s spread legs as Oswald starts to sit up. 

“You don’t need to reciprocate—” Ed starts but Oswald ignores him, grabs the lube leftover from last night off the bedside table and pours a small amount onto his palm, and Ed falls silent.

“I know,” Oswald tells him.  “But I want to, if you’ll let me.”

Ed wants him to; _God_ he wants him to.  The image of Oswald’s slender fingers, that clever _mouth_ on his cock…

“Yes,” Ed tells him.

Oswald offers a small, hopeful smile as he reaches forward with his dry hand and pulls Ed closer to him, and then he hesitates.

“First, can I watch you?” he asks.

Ed is pulsing hard and still feverish at the idea of Oswald exploring his body, and it takes him a moment to register the implication of Oswald’s words.  “You want...to…watch me masturbate?”

Oswald nods, and Ed could swear he flushes from his face to his groin as he settles on his haunches and takes himself in hand.

He tries to forget the humiliating moments jacking off as a teenager to comic books and old swimsuit catalogues, to spending far too much time in his twenties exploring his own body because hell, no one else was going to do it and focus on Oswald sitting before him, giving over so much and asking Ed to let his guard down.

He finds a rhythm quickly enough; he’s done this a million times before, and it’s fast and loud to his own ears.  He can make out Oswald’s face, but can’t meet his eyes, read his expression, and isn’t sure if he could even with the benefit of his glasses.

Oswald shifting forward and gripping Ed’s cock in a tight, lubed-up hold does help him understand Oswald’s reaction.

Ed pulls his own hand away and leans forward, moaning as he drops his head to Oswald’s shoulder and the slippery grasp Oswald has on him and the swift jerking of his hand.  The shift in their relationship in the last twelve hours is near-overwhelming, and Ed grips Oswald’s shoulders, brings one hand guiding Oswald’s face to his and kisses him hard as he feverishly recounts it all

_Oswald stripping for Ed_

_Oswald stripping Ed bare_

_Oswald letting Ed fuck him_

_Oswald letting him blow him_

_Oswald touching him_

All these acts, all for the first time, and all so quickly.  Ed cants his hips into Oswald’s movements, perhaps too smug in liking how his cock bulges in Oswald’s fist, but far too feverish to do anything other than cling to Oswald as he comes with a breathy moan. 

He buries his face in Oswald’s neck, and sighs when he feels Oswald card the fingers of his clean hand through Ed’s hair and kiss his temple.

“Good?” Oswald asks, and Ed chuckles, spent and utterly, deliriously happy, and plants a wet kiss on Oswald’s shoulder.

“ _So_ good,” he replies, and kisses Oswald again, ignoring the need to clean up, to get ready for the day, at least—for now.

 

Two days later, days in which they don’t have sex but still sleep together, dress and brush their teeth together, and enjoy their new intimacy in other forms, Ed presents Oswald with a pad of paper and a pen over breakfast.  Oswald notes from a cursory glance that Ed’s put in quite a few entries, but he’s not caffeinated enough, nor are the quick look and Ed’s messy handwriting enough information to give Oswald an idea what’s going on.

“So I’ve decided,” Ed tells him, “that we need to have a list of things that are encouraged and things that are out of bounds for the physical aspect of our relationship.”

Oswald blinks.  It takes a few moments to register what Ed means, and when he does, he winces.  How he can be uncomfortable discussing sex in graphic detail with Ed when they’ve already had sex?  And yet he _is_.  He sits, frozen in place as Ed sits down at his side and slides the notepad his way.

When Oswald still doesn’t know how to respond, he glances back up at Oswald, brow furrowed.  “What?” he asks, studying Oswald’s face and finding nothing he can use.

“I don’t…” Oswald reaches for his coffee and takes several sips as he tries to articulate a response.  When he sets his cup down he finds he’s still at a loss.  “I just…”

Ed draws back, eyes wide.  “Do you not want to have sex anymore?” he says, voice strained, before holding up a hand to silence Oswald’s non-existent protests and adding, “I understand, we agreed that our relationship wouldn’t be physical without complete consent and that you aren’t by nature a particularly sexual person, and I respect that, but I’d thought our interactions had been enjoyable for us both—”

Oswald also stutters, almost laughs at Ed’s nervous rambling, and takes Ed’s hand in his own.  “I…Ed.  It _was_.  I liked it, and I’m willing to try…other things with you as well as what we’ve done before.”  He brushes his thumb over Ed’s fingers, and focuses on their joined hands.  “I don’t…I wasn’t raised to…you know…talk about these things.  Or really even think about them.”

He glances up at Ed, whose brow has furrowed again, a nervous frown tugging at his lips.  “So…repression has…” he hesitates.

“To some extent, yes,” Oswald admits, and for a moment, he’s stunned.  He’s never fully realized this, certainly not acknowledged it.  “I guess so.”  In some way, even with a fairly substantial lack of inclination towards sex, he wonders if he could’ve allowed himself to want…

“I’ve known I’m attracted to men since I was fourteen,” Ed tells him suddenly.  “I was always worried about getting caught with dirty magazines; well, my father might not have minded men’s magazines if he knew about them—anything that would make me seem more masculine in his eyes—but swimsuit and clothing catalogues—there were also comic books, but—” Ed swallows and composes himself.  “Anyway.  Male, female…I’d keep them under my bed.  Innocent magazines, but I was convinced that if my father saw them, he’d know why I had them.  That I wasn’t interested in polo shirts or new briefs.”  He laughs.  “Me, fourteen years old, _jacking off_ ” he winces at his own word choice “to a J Crew summer catalogue, thinking that I’d be kicked out and forced to forage in the Sticks if I got caught.  I’m not sure why I could accept it even then, given my upbringing.  Maybe I just thought…I thought my parents, my neighbors, my peers were all dumber than I was, so why should I believe that my sexuality was wrong when they…” he pauses and squeezes Oswald’s hand.

“You came out at sixteen?” Oswald asks.  “Once you were in college?”

Ed sighs and shrugs, looking down.  “In a sense.  I wasn’t ‘in’ any closet but I wasn’t fully ‘out’ either.  No one ever asked or cared.”

“You knew who you were from the start,” Oswald says softly.  “Even if you didn’t get to date or have sex, you knew what and who you wanted.”

“You’re right,” Ed tells him, “yes.  I didn’t lose my virginity til I was nearly twenty-eight, even though if I’d had my druthers it would’ve been twelve years earlier.  But I never got to talk to anyone about sex, and there’s a lot I don’t know and want to learn _.   I_ _want to learn with you_.”  He stops.  “I…”

Oswald’s still trying to digest all this, but he thinks he gets it.  Talking, a dialogue, is healthy.  And Ed looks downright jittery.  “Alright,” he says, and pulls Ed’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles.  Ed catches his eyes and smiles—brief, nervous, and ever-grateful.  “We can talk about it.  We probably _should._   Talk about it.”  Oswald tries to smile back.  “But the coffee and breakfast are getting cold.” 

Ed laughs and kisses him before reaching for his own cup.

 

 “So, I’m just going to start by listing a few things I was thinking we could try at some point and get your opinion,” Ed tells him, and clears his throat.  “First, I’d like to try having you inside of me.”

Oswald’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his crumpet—causing Ed to stand and ready himself to perform the Heimlich maneuver—before swallowing.  “I’m sorry; you want me to fuck you?” he croaks, finally.

The words send a shiver down Ed’s spine, but he senses something in Oswald’s tone that he hadn’t predicted.  He doesn’t seem as excited as Ed thought he’d be.  “Well, yes, at some point.  Do you not want to?” he asks.  He loves the feeling of being inside someone, had craved it long before his first time; he had of course assumed Oswald would want to experience it himself…

“I…” Oswald looks him over.  “It’s not that.  I mean…I thought.  You weren’t, I mean, interested in being on the receiving end.  I thought, you know, if we were going to do this, you just wanted me to…since I…” he cuts himself off.  Ed honestly has no idea what Oswald’s getting at.

“Why did you think I didn’t want to be penetrated?” Ed asks.

“I don’t know.  You’ve slept with women.  Well.  _A_ woman. You like being more…in charge, I guess, with this part of our relationship—which is fine, by the way.  And I don’t exactly, in comparison to you, anyway, seem like the kind of person who…you know…” Oswald trails off again.

Ed isn’t quite following, but the wheels start turning.  “Do you think I exclusively want to fuck you, and not let you switch things up?”

“ _Yes_!” Oswald says, red-faced and looking down at his mug.  “That is the impression I got.  I liked our first time; I’m not complaining if that’s how you want to do things.”

“It isn’t,” Ed tells him.  “I mean, I would love to be inside of you every day if I could, can’t lie about that, but we’re both equipped to be on either end of penetrative sex, and I am aware of how it feels and _enjoy_ how it feels to be penetrated.”

Oswald wrinkles his brow.  “Seriously?  I thought Kristen was your only partner before me.”

“With _myself_ , Oswald.  I experimented with myself.  Fingers, a toy at one point…I…”  Ed is certain his own cheeks are as flushed as Oswald’s as he speaks.  His attempts at dirty-talk leave much to be desired, he’s sure.  Any case, he bites down on his lip to keep from embarrassing himself further.  “I’ll stop.”

Oswald blinks, face bright red and eyes wide, and Ed expects him to say something like, ‘ _Too much information, Ed_.’

Instead Oswald says, “Alright.”

“To what?”

“I’m amenable to… _being inside you_ …at some point.”

“Oh!” a short laugh bursts from Ed’s lips and he sighs, relieved.  It was a long, embarrassing walk to get to that conclusion, but he imagines he has that in store if he’s going to discuss sex with Oswald.  “Great.  We’ll put it on the list.  I imagine, given your leg, it may be a good idea if I ride you when it happens so you don’t have to put unnecessary stress on your knee and ankle…”

“What’s next on the list?” Oswald interrupts.

“Oh, ah.” Ed glances down.  “Would you be willing to perform oral sex?”

“Yes,” Oswald says, immediately and without hesitation.

Ed grins; he can’t suppress it.  That Mr. Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot, king of Gotham, has no qualms about blowing him, thrills him to his core.

The next suggestion, though…

“And how do you feel about getting rimmed out?” Ed asks.

Oswald blinks.  And says nothing.  Makes sense; he’s inexperienced, sexually inhibited.  He might not even know what Ed’s talking about, in which case, “‘Rimming’ is a slang term for—”

Oswald holds up a hand.  “I know what it means.  I worked for mobsters; half the underlings traded sexual favors.”

“Well, then you may have heard that it is highly pleasurable in awakening the nerve endings around the anus, and given your sensitivity and how much you enjoyed it when I stimulated your prostate—”

“ _Chto, chert voz'mi_?” snaps a voice from the kitchen entrance.  Olga stares, eyes wide, with a fresh coffee pitcher from where she stands several feet away.  Oswald groans and buries his face in his hands.“Well, could be worse,” Ed tells her.  “You could’ve _seen_ me stimulate his prostate.”  Oswald groans again, this time with a muffled, “ _Goddamnit_.”Olga winces and turns on her heel back to the kitchen, shouting, “ _YA nikogda ne uslyshu etogo_!” Ed turns back to Oswald, at his slump and his glare when he finally uncovers his face, and shrugs.  “She was bound to find out,” he says.  When Oswald continues to glare at him, he tries to look guilty.

 

 “I’m not saying ‘no’ right out of the gate,” Oswald tells him, finally, “but it seems…a bit too intimate.  And mildly unhygienic.”

“Well, with the hygiene aspect, dental dams can be used as protection.  Sometimes people on the receiving end get enemas beforehand to avoid any sort of contamination.  Some people use both…”

“Enemas aren’t also on the list, are they?” Oswald asks, eyebrows raised.  Ed is…well, he doesn’t know how sexually curious of a creature he is, but, given his curiosity about everything else, and fascination with the human body, Oswald guesses very.

Ed’s eyes widen.  “Oh!  Oh, no.  No.  I…” he laughs.  “Just as possible preparation for…” he clears his throat.  “So the verdict on rimming?”

Oswald considers this.  He’ll not rule it out completely, but he can’t guarantee he’ll let Ed do anything of the sort to him.  “It’s a maybe.  What’s next?”

Ed glances at his notepad and grins.  “How do you feel about being bound or tied up?”

Oswald closes his eyes.  The amount of times he’s been bound, been restrained, facing certain doom, overshadow any concept of roleplay or however partners use restraints during sex.  He pictures handcuffs digging into his wrists as he stares down the barrel of a shotgun, of his bones creaking and threatening to break as he struggles for his life against corded rope, and shakes his head.

“No.  Absolutely not.”  He opens his eyes.  “Sorry, Ed.  It wouldn’t take me anywhere pleasant.”

Ed watches his face for a moment before recognition seems to hit home.  “Oh, I…” Ed winces.  “I’m sorry.  I should have…” he clears his throat.  “On that note, I have a few hard rules of my own, things I want to keep out of our relationship as well.”  He hesitates.  “Choking, breathplay, asphyxiation, are out.  It’s nonnegotiable.”

Oswald thinks of Kristen—how she died—and it immediately clicks.  Ed has his own dark memories he doesn’t want to trigger.  “That’s fine,” he says.  “Anything else?”

Ed glances down, “Nothing that belongs in the toilet; no including others; no humiliation.”

“Agreed to all.”  Oswald hadn’t even considered any of these things; he can’t imagine how “vanilla” his tastes are in comparison to Ed.  “What else do you want to ask?”

“Sensory deprivation? Mouth gags?”

Oswald winces.

“Is that a no?”

Oswald sighs.  In mere minutes it’s gotten easier to talk, to think about sex, at least, but there’s so much he isn’t willing to do. “I just can’t.  Too many things have happened to me that I don’t want to be kept in the dark or prevented from speaking.  Or screaming.  I just can’t do any of that.  I mean, if you’d rather _I_ did it to _you_ …”

“Not particularly,” Ed admits.  “Most of these are things I wanted to implement with a willing partner, not be on the receiving end.  Which just leaves roleplay.”

“Out,” Oswald says immediately.  He doesn’t want to see Ed as anyone else; can’t fathom fantasizing about anyone else or Ed as anything other than the man he’s known for over two years.  And equally important, he doesn’t want to indulge Ed in picturing Oswald as someone else.

“Fine.  Anything you want to try in particular?”

Oswald thinks, and comes up blank.  He enjoys the moments as they come; he trusts Ed as much as he possibly can trust another person; he is attracted to Ed, likes the look and feel of his body, but there’s nothing specifically he craves doing, not like Ed does.  “Just what we mentioned earlier, and what we’ve already done.  Do you…have any issues with me?”

Ed furrows his brow.  “Why would I?”

“I mean, I shot down most of your ideas.”

Ed considers this, and tries to sound out the answers as appropriately as he can.  “Well, yes.  But they were ideas of things I’d want to try with a partner who was also curious about them.  They’re not things I want to impose on an unwilling participant.  And I don’t want anybody but you. 

“I _do_ want you, by the way,” Ed adds. 

Oswald offers a sheepish little grin.  “I know,” he replies.  He has no idea how, but he knows it; in the time since they’ve acknowledged their mutual interest, Ed has always made it clear that he’s attracted to Oswald.

 

 

The first time Ed fully embraces his moniker is the first time he dons a forest-green three-piece suit, fitted almost too-tight and over a black button-down, black gloves, and a violet necktie.  The final touch: a black bowler hat Oswald immediately dislikes.

“How do I look?” he asks, arms spread, where Oswald can see he’s also worn silver cufflinks—they take the shape of question marks at his wrists.

Oswald grins.  “Flamboyant,” he says. 

Ed frowns, mouth curving into a slight pout.  “Well,” he huffs, “That’s a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, no?  Besides, I think a suit that fits my eccentricities and has a costume sort of style that _is_ appropriate for me.”

Oswald grins wider.  “And handsome,” he adds.  “As always.  My one critique?”  He waddles over to Ed and carefully plucks off the bowler hat.  “This doesn’t flatter your facial structure.  May I instead suggest a fedora?”

Ed looks down at the bowler hat, and, considering this, plucks it out of Oswald’s hands and settles it atop Oswald’s head.  “Well, I must say _you_ look rather endearing in it.  As always.”

Oswald laughs, beaming up at him.  “You do know I’d never tolerate anyone but you saying that I’m adorable, right?” he asks.

Ed grins back.  “Of course.  Mustn’t tarnish your reputation as the biggest threat in Gotham.”

_“She blows out of nowhere, roman candle of the wild_  
Laughing away through my feeble disguise  
No other version of me I would rather to be tonight  
Lord she found me just in time

_'Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done  
I need to be youthfully felt, 'cause God I never felt young”  -Hozier_

 

 

The first time Ed really feels like he has friends other than Oswald is when he starts talking to Query.

Her real name is Diedre; he’s always addressed her by her moniker.  And it took him a long time to notice the looks she gave Echo—gave _Nina_ —in the languid moments counting money, securing leads, watching a man choke on his own blood after providing the necessary information.

He invites himself to stay after closing at Pandora’s Box with her after Nina goes home with her girlfriend Annie. 

It took over a month for Ed to determine that Diedre was attracted to Nina, after Oswald had pointed it out, and after Oswald’s much less frequent interactions with either of them.  Ed considers this as Diedre sets up shop behind the bar, meticulously setting up a pyramid of shotglasses, all filled with cheap whiskey.

“Is that for both of us?” Ed asks after a moment, “Because I should warn you, I don’t handle straight liquor very well.”

“Eighteen shots, in a row, like Dylan Thomas,” Diedre says.  “That’s what I want.”

Ed sits up.  “Well, if you want to die like Dylan Thomas, it has been suggested that he died due to malpractice and his physician misdiagnosing him, not from eighteen shots in a row.”  He taps his fingers against the bar, watching Diedre consider the glasses in front of him.  If she gets alcohol poisoning, he could easily make her better, but the fact that she seems to be serious about this has him reaching for one of the glasses; he wants to dismantle the immaculate pyramid if it means he can keep someone so valuable under his employment.  “Is this because of Nina?”

Diedre groans.  “Jesus, am I really that transparent?”

“Possibly,” Ed tells her.  “I don’t think Nina knows.  Oswald does, but he knows everything.”

Diedre says nothing for a moment; she takes a shot and downs it like it’s water.  Ed doesn’t doubt she has experience taking shots, but she’s not a day over twenty-three, and he can’t help but marvel.  “Not for nothing, boss, but you don’t pick up on vibes too well.  Helps that you and Mr. Penguin work so well together.”

 “We do.  It took us a while to do so,” he says, and snaps his fingers, waiting for Diedre to get the hint; he won’t tolerate shots, but a glass of wine?  A good cocktail?  He’d be fine to mingle for now.  He knows this topic well enough.

Diedre glares at him for a moment before audibly sighing and getting behind the bar and fiddling with several bottles; four clear, one blue, one a container of pineapple juice.  She mixes them all with ice into a steel cup, shakes, and pours into a tall glass.

“I hope you’re not driving,” she tells him smugly before shoving it his way.

“If worst comes to worst, I’ll have you sober up and drive me,” Ed tells her, and smirks at her indignant expression as he takes a sip.  It doesn’t taste much like alcohol, and so fits his requirements for a cocktail.  He has the worst tolerance for hard liquor of anyone he knows, and he imagines it will stay that way.  “In any case, Annie shouldn’t pose too much of an obstacle.  You and Nina have a lot in common.  There are many ways to emerge the victor here.”

“I’m _not_ killing Annie,” Diedre snaps before taking two shots in quick succession.  “I don’t care.  I’ve done some messed up shit, boss.  But I’m not…I just _can’t_.”

Ed sits back; with self-righteous indignation he says, “I would never suggest that!” but…well…with him and Oswald, he’s sure he’d be capable of killing a man who seduced Oswald.  He’d tried to kill Jim before this, but not over Oswald…although he can’t deny that he’d make the attempt if a love triangle was in play.  Sure, there was that issue with Kristen…

“You _did_ , boss.”  Diedre takes another shot.  “We all know it.  No disrespect here, but you did it.  And then you killed _her_.”

_A twitch in his fingers, a pair of glassy and vacant green eyes, a burn in his gut and in his back in the shape of a bullet…_

“You’re treading on very thin ice,” he tells her.

Diedre looks down.  “Sorry, boss,” she says, addressing her empty shotglasses before depleting another full one.

“Annie doesn’t really know Nina like you and I do,” Ed says finally.  “She doesn’t know what you two do for me.  She’s never seen Nina kill a man to protect me, or help me extract information out of a traitor.  She’s never seen Nina get ruthless and bloody and won’t truly love her if she can’t accept that part of her.  And you do.”

Diedre takes another shot and glances over at him.  Her eyes are very large as she forces a grin.  “Is that how you and Mr. Penguin got together?” she asks.

Ed blanches.  They’ve never said it; he hadn’t planned on either of his minions explicitly stating the obvious.  In the time that they’ve known Ed and Oswald, the two were friends, coworkers, housemates, but never implied to either Nina or Diedre or anyone else that they were anything more. 

“Boss?” Diedre asks, more nervously this time.

He takes a long sip of his drink and looks over at Diedre, a pansexual woman who has killed for him and watched him kill.  Someone who could easily have turned on him by now yet has not.  “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he says finally.  “We saw each other violent, saw each other weak; we understood each other and the parts of us that separated us from other people, and we acknowledged them.  Neither of us could ever hack it with a normal, law-abiding citizen.  That’s not how we work.  Any case,” he sighs and looks forward.  “We were friends for a long time before we started dating.

“I’m telling you this in confidence.  I’ll let Nina know myself.  I’m leaving this information with the two of you because of all you do.  Oswald and I have a very private relationship, but we’re both a little drunk and you’ve saved my life a few times now.  But if you tell people about me and him, I’ll have both you and Nina killed.”

Diedre turns and stares at him, open-mouthed.  “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” she says after a moment.

“But, well, you and Nina could work as a couple.  And I’m fairly certain Nina’s relationship with Annie will crumble at some point.  Annie has no idea what Nina does instead of bartending these days, does she?”

Diedre slowly shakes her head.

“Well, there you have it.  That relationship is set to implode.”

“Nina loves her,” Diedre says, and reaches for another shot.

“I loved Kristen.  At least, I _thought_ I did.  She rejected me in the end anyway.”

“I don’t think Nina’s going to kill Annie either.”

Ed sets down his drink with enough force that the dwindling liquid splashes over his fist.  “ _Are you quite done_?” he snaps.

“I think so.”

“Great.  Now that you’re not going to drink yourself to death, I want you to clean up, then sober both of us up, go home, and be ready to work in ten hours.”  Diedre sighs and rises to her feet as she gets rid of the evidence.

When Ed tells Nina the next day, Nina says she always suspected, just knew better than to say anything.  “And you fell in love while working together?” she asks.

Diedre won’t have any trouble with Nina.  Ed’s sure of it.

 

 

 

Ed’s hatching a plot of some sort; he refuses to give Oswald all the details, but much of it revolves around setting up elaborate puzzles that obstruct the busiest parts of the city.  Oswald isn’t mayor anymore, and couldn’t care less what headaches Ed’s work will cause for Gotham’s infrastructure if it means that Ed gets to unleash his brilliant, terrifying brain on the GCPD and anyone else dumb enough to underestimate him.

At the end of his planning stage he grabs Oswald by the hips after several long hours spent in the basement and kisses him hard, saying, “It’s time the Riddler made his debut.”

He grins, expression positively _feral_ as he pulls Oswald in for another kiss.  Oswald welcomes the advance; wraps his arms around Ed’s neck and pulls him in, closing the spaces between them and noting the stirring at Ed’s bulge.  He sighs at the contact and tilts his head back to catch Ed’s dark gaze; eyes near black and lips swollen red, and grins.

“And I’m assuming you’d like me to take care of that—” he nods towards Ed’s groin, “first?”

Ed kisses Oswald hard once more.  “When I get home,” he tells him, harsh breath against Oswald’s ear and hands still holding him in place as they span most of his waist.  “When I get home, yes, I want to fuck you.  Will you let me?”

“Definitely.” He parts from Ed once more.  “When?”

Ed starts to regain his composure and pull away, breathing calming back to normal.  “T minus 6 hours.  Nina and Deirde are coming with me.  If you have someone covering for you at the lounge last minute—”

“I’ll have Babs cover.  She owes me one.  And she can have Tabitha run Sirens alone tonight.”

“ _Perfect_.”  Ed gives Oswald one final kiss before retreating.  “Keep an eye out for the news!” he says. 

Oswald laughs as he watches him retreat.

 

 

Oswald has finished all his reports and trade agreements with the TV playing in the background, grin widening every time he sees a green question mark on live coverage, hears reports of “police incompetence” and “Gotham’s newest threat.”

His heart nearly bursts with pride the moment he hears the words, “ _Beware of the Riddler_.”

The lanky, motor-mouthed, awkward young man who rescued him what feels like ages ago could not have hoped for a better outcome. 

He prepares for the evening, kicks out all his maintenance staff, lets Olga home early and cooks _csirkepaprikas_ and rice pilaf that he leaves on the stove to be reheated for later, sets up Ed’s favorite wine in a decanter with two glasses in his own bedroom, and prepares himself, remembering Ed’s old list and deciding he’d be happy to give a few new things a go. 

He’s freshly out of the bath and dressed in his favorite robe when Ed comes in, sweaty, disheveled, and grinning ear to ear. 

“Did you watch the news?” he asks, grabbing Oswald by the shoulders, forgetting to close the door behind him, leaving Oswald a view of Nina and Deirdre keeping guard a few paces away. 

“You were incredible,” Oswald tells him, and calls over Ed’s shoulder, “Isn’t that right, ladies?”

Nina grins.  “He did great, Mr. Penguin. 

“Need anything else, boss?” she asks Ed.

Ed doesn’t look away from Oswald as he speaks.  “Nothing, ladies. Nothing at all.”

 

The moment they close the door, Ed takes stock of Oswald, freshly bathed, in what appears to be just a long bathrobe that reveals a sliver of pale skin leading to his sternum, and after a moment of staring, taking in the sight, grabs Oswald by the hips and turns him around, back to the door, and kisses him, grips the back of his head and tilts it back so he can trail nips and kisses along the side of his neck, his other hand fishing in between the folds of Oswald’s bathrobe to grip at his cock before Oswald pushes at his chest, and it’s not enough that Ed could stumble back, but he does pull away, confused and hopelessly aroused.

Oswald can tell he’s both, and answers his unspoken question.  “ _My room_.”

Ed grins.

 

Ed’s a walking string bean, but manages, once they get through the door to Oswald’s bedroom, to pick Oswald up and drop him onto the bed before climbing on and crawling over him (perhaps something Oswald should expect, since not that long ago he carried Oswald up several flights of stairs in the dead of night to his apartment) his mouth latches onto whatever exposed skin he can find before undoing the sash to Oswald’s robe.  That is, before Oswald stops him by nudging his good knee into Ed’s chest.  He’s not complaining; he’s already erect under Ed’s touch, but this isn’t how he wants to do things. 

Ed glares at him as he pulls back.  “What is it?” he asks, a bit petulant considering his brilliance earlier.

“First,” Oswald tells him, “I want you to undress.  I wanna see you.”

Ed furrows his brow, as though the state of his dress hadn’t occurred to him; maybe it hasn’t.  Nonetheless he obeys; shifts and moves as he hastily strips off his hat and jacket, kicks off his shoes behind them, and tosses them to the floor surrounding the bed in a cloth- and leather barrier, and gets to work on his waistcoat and tie before Oswald continues.

“Second, there was something you said you wanted to do?  Something that possibly involved cleaning myself…inside?”

Ed fumbles on the buttons of his shirt as he stares, wide-eyed.  He opens, then closes his mouth.

“I’m listening,” he says.

Oswald shrugs one shoulder.  “Well, I did that before you got here, in case you still wanted to try it.”

Ed resumes undressing swiftly; yanks his undershirt over his head before starting on his belt.

“And I want you out of that robe,” he tells Oswald as he yanks his slacks and underpants down to his knees and kicks them off, then peels of his socks and sock garters.  Ed’s also completely erect; he looks somehow stronger under his clothes, a fact that fascinates Oswald, who always feels so much frailer without them.

Oswald complies, the robe spread beneath him before Ed grabs his hips and turns him over.

He gasps at the feel of Ed’s mouth between his shoulder blades.  His skin flushes; each press of those lips as Ed descends lower sparks a throbbing in his groin and he feels himself clench and unclench once Ed’s mouth reaches his tailbone and Ed has the cheeks of his ass in each hand.

“Feeling good?” Ed murmurs against Oswald’s skin.

The feel of Ed’s warm breath against his crack has him shaking, and yet Oswald murmurs an assent, still willing to experience this.

When Ed parts Oswald’s cheeks with his thumbs and swipes his tongue along Oswald’s entrance, Oswald buckles and shouts; it’s almost too much for him, _too_ intimate, _too_ vulnerable.  And yet he still spreads his legs, shaking as he buries his face in his folded arms to muffle the loud _wail_ that accompanies Ed’s tongue trailing along the inside of his crack once more before paying closer attention directly to his entrance, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before flattening against it.

And Ed still dives in; his tongue circles Oswald’s entrance before prodding the tip of his tongue inside; wet and clever and so good, so _inhumanly_ good, that Oswald is terrified, is utterly certain that he’ll go mad from the sheer nerve-popping pleasure of it.

 

Ed loves the sound of Oswald’s moans and sighs and grunts during their acts.  Oswald’s never been this loud, this desperate, and Ed can’t wait to wrench more noises from him.

Oswald’s also never cursed during the act, so when he cries out, “Oh, _fuck_!” Ed, well, Ed simply _must_ work Oswald harder.

Oswald’s clean and tight and lovely, squirming under Ed’s hands and mouth before rutting against the bed once Ed prods his tongue in slightly deeper.  Ed grins against the crease of Oswald’s ass before pulling Oswald’s hips slightly up closer towards him and fucks Oswald with his tongue as best as he can.  He does, truly, want to bury his cock inside Oswald later, but that can wait until he’s finished dining.

Oswald’s hips jerk back as he pants, turning his head to the side so he can at least attempt to articulate.  “Ed…Ed, I’m gonna...”

Ed pulls back with the sudden epiphany; he wants Oswald to come stretched and ready to be penetrated, and prepared, worshipped with mouth and hands.  He leans over for the bottle of lube in the nightstand, ignoring Oswald’s confused, wordless protest as he drizzles lube onto his fingertips and slides two fingers in at once, causing Oswald to gasp and lurch back onto his fingers.  He’s utterly beautiful, debauched, and in this moment, trusting. 

 _All mine_ , Ed thinks, with a wave of possessive glee. 

“I adore you,” Ed tells him, as he curves his fingers inside of him.

Oswald moans wordlessly, shifting his hips to work with Ed’s digits.  “Oh, God.  I…” his hips stutter, pale body trembling, and Ed leans down to press his tongue along his fingers.

That’s what does it; Oswald _screams_ as he gives one last thrust against the bed, against the presumably ruined bathrobe under him, before sinking down, panting and shaking.  He must look transcendent like this; brought to climax with not a hand laid on his cock, and Ed grips his side to turn him to his back.

Ed sits up and wipes his mouth, watching Oswald’s chest heave as he regains his breath, eyes closed and mouth open.  His face is splotchy red, freckles standing out more than ever, and almost-smile gracing his lips.  The sheen of sweat on his pale skin seems to highlight all his scars, all the freckles on his shoulders, the life he’s led. 

Ed leans over brushes a few errant strands of sweaty hair from his forehead.  “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” he says.

Oswald laughs and slings his forearm across his still-closed eyes.

“I mean it,” Ed tells him, and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, to the crux of his neck, to his sternum, before traveling down and dragging his tongue along the smeared remains of cum leftover on his stomach, eliciting a whine from Oswald.

As he watches Oswald regain his breath, he glances over at the wine and glasses on a small table set up nearby, and grins.  “Romantic,” he says, and glances back at Oswald, who’s opened his eyes and sat up, and now shifts back so his back hits the headboard; his expression is unreadable.

“C’mere,” Oswald says, setting pillows aside so he can properly rest back against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” Ed asks.  They can’t fuck like this, can they?

“What am I doing?” Oswald repeats, eyebrows raised.  “What I’m doing is I’m getting ready to blow you.”

Ed’s cock twitches; he’s not sure if it’s because of Oswald’s words, or the prospect, or watching Oswald meet his gaze head-on as he sits, nude before him like an offering.  It’s likely a mixture of all three.

Wordlessly, Ed rises to his knees and shuffles forward, straddling Oswald, with his cock inches from Oswald’s lips. 

Oswald teases at first, of course.  He stares at the exit wound from the old bullet scar in Ed’s lower stomach and places a kiss at its center; gentle and almost reverent.  He leads a trail of soft pecks to Ed’s mons, just above his pubic hair, and caresses Ed’s flank as he takes his time.

“Os…” Ed starts, watching this, needing to feel himself inside Oswald somehow, not wanting to beg but so close to it. 

Oswald stares up at him with those bright eyes that shift from ice blue to sea green and make unblinking contact as he grips the base of Ed’s cock and wraps his lips around the tip.

Ed hears himself moan immediately and grip the top of the headboard for balance with one hand as his free hand clings to Oswald’s damp hair.  _God_ , how he’s wanted this for so long, and the fantasies don’t do it justice; Oswald starts with dainty laps around the tip of Ed’s cock as he works his wrist around the base and slowly takes another couple of inches in, takes his time, but the wet suction keeping rhythm with the movement of his hand working the rest of him has Ed panting and trying his best not to thrust forward and fuck the welcoming heat.

He doesn’t expect Oswald to take all of him in; Ed’s noticeably larger than Oswald in every respect.  And Oswald doesn’t, but it’s enough.  It’s very much enough, especially when Oswald’s free hand grabs Ed’s ass and nudges him forward, and hums as he tries to take Ed in faster, manages to keep his teeth—at least from the most part—from scraping against his skin, and the moments he does, it’s merely a slight graze that almost adds to the overwhelming satisfaction.

He starts to rock his hips forward when he realizes he’s near his end, wanting desperately to thrust deeper, managing not to, and trying to find words, any coherent speech.  The best he can manage is a single slurred, “ _Os_ … _?_ ”

Oswald’s pale eyes glint, and he raises his eyebrows again as if in challenge, and keeps going as Ed comes, working him through his orgasm and not pulling off until Ed’s soft and spent between Oswald’s lips.

Those lips are red and swollen and quirk upwards into a mischievous smile as Ed pulls out and falls back onto his haunches, stunned, for once, into silence.

“Would you like some wine?” Oswald asks, nodding towards the decanter and glasses.

Ed grins back.  “Definitely.  And a few minutes to recover and tell you how tonight went before I get my second wind and fuck you into next week.”  He leans in and kisses Oswald on the temple before getting up to pour a full glass each, and they settle back.

Oswald grins and watches Ed take a sip as they recline side by side.  “You did a stellar job tonight,” he tells him.  “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”  He leans in and kisses Oswald’s temple.  “They’ll be excavating all the roadblocks for days.  The traffic lights are working again, but they won’t find out who scrambled them.”

Oswald laughs and leans in, presses his lips to Ed’s.  “You’re incredible,” he tells him, lips so close his breath tickles Ed’s nostrils.  “And no tail?”

“None.  By the time the dust cleared I was long gone.”

There’s something in how Oswald sits back and looks away that he doesn’t quite understand.

“So you know that, at this point, you can’t live publicly as Edward Nygma _and_ the Riddler.  You’ve committed crimes with this calling card, the green question mark.  People at the GCPD know how you like riddles.  Your best option now is to claim that it was a copycat.”

“What are you--?”

“To make sure you don’t get sent to Blackgate or back to Arkham.”  Oswald looks back at him and cups Ed’s face with his free hand.  “Never again.”

“Os…”

“Or…or you stop publicly living as Edward Nygma.  Or.”  Oswald pauses, thinking, before pressing a chaste kiss to Ed’s lips.  “We’ll think of something.  We always do.”

Minutes later Ed’s inside of Oswald again, kneeling between his legs, thrusting into him hard enough to rock the headboard against the wall before lifting Oswald up, onto him and thrusting up into his warm heat, feeling Oswald gasp and shudder around him before soon he’s coming, mind blank and breath knocked out of his lungs, with one hand grabbing Oswald’s hip, the other wrapped around Oswald’s pulsing cock.

He melts into Oswald’s embrace later, face buried in Oswald’s shoulder.

“You really are incredible,” Oswald tells him.

Ed tilts his head up at him and grins.  Oswald smiles back, relaxed and contented as a lazy cat, and Ed feels warmth spread through his chest, unfurling like smoke and seeping into his bones.

 

 

 

 

 _“I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.”_ - _Kimya Dawson_

 

Ed crafts weapons for them; he surprises Oswald when he returns from the Iceberg at three in the morning. 

He grins at the sight of Ed, dressed in standard business attire rather than his Riddler suit --the only concession are his contacts; he made the switch after the third time he almost lost an eye to broken and shattered glasses on the job—and seated in Oswald’s office.

Oswald takes a step back and looks at Ed, legs crossed as he reclines on Oswald’s sofa while resting his hands behind him on what appears to be a sleek black umbrella set upon his shoulders.

Ed smirks, mouth lopsided, and rolls the cane in his grip.  “Wanna know what I got up to tonight?” he asks.

“Home Economics?” Oswald asks.

Ed grins wider, unfazed.  “I made your job a little easier,” he says, and starts to rise and move toward Oswald in long-legged strides.

“This,” he raises the umbrella in his grip and pushes it towards Oswald, “is yours.”

Oswald glances at it as he takes it from Ed’s grasp.  “And I’m guessing this doesn’t just protect me from the rain?” he asks.

Ed leans in to the umbrella handle and guides Oswald’s hands to a couple of innocuous buttons.  “This first one—mind that you don’t keep the top of the umbrella near the floor when operating either button—produces a spray that could knock out a gorilla.  Effects are temporary, but include unconsciousness followed by brief blindness and severe nausea upon recovery.  Second one; a drill.  Pointed edge.  You can put holes in quite a few things that would not normally have holes.”  He holds Oswald’s hand briefly before pulling back.  “And, as an added bonus, its height is designed to accommodate your walk if you don’t want to bother with a cane.”

Oswald laughs.  Ed still surprises him; he wonders how many years they still have before he stops.  No matter how many there are, he doubts that day will ever come.  “It’s remarkable, Ed,” he says, lifting the umbrella right-side-up and pressing the second button, watching the drill emerge and whirr before releasing his hold.  “ _You’re_ utterly remarkable.”  He looks back up at Ed, to find Ed has stepped in closer, eyes dark, molten, and registers the lust in them before Ed kisses him hard and pulls Oswald to him by the waist.

Oswald reciprocates in full; sets the umbrella on his desk behind him and digs his fingers into the fabric of Ed’s waistcoat, into the back of his head, before pulling back. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Oswald tells him.  Ed’s suite is closest, and Oswald _wants_...so seldom is it with Ed’s ferocity and need, but now he feels it in equal fervor.  He’s stiff and ready and wants to repay every moment of tension Ed’s ever given him.

 

 

“I want to ride you,” Ed tells him, both stripped fully bare as Ed crawls over Oswald’s lap. 

Oswald wouldn’t deny a request like that, not while he’s curious to try penetrating Ed as well, and not while Ed is looking at him with eyes half-lidded and cock at full swell.  He settles back, resting on his elbows, and nods.

“Yes,” he replies, shocked at the hoarseness in his own voice.  “ _Do it_.”

Ed settles atop Oswald’s thighs and presses his hands upon Oswald’s chest, coaxing him to lay back completely, and follows him with his lips.  One hand moves to cup the side of Oswald’s face as he deepens the kiss; the other reaches between them to bring Oswald to full hardness.  It doesn’t take much to have Oswald panting and gasping when it comes to Ed, and Oswald imagines he’ll always be hopelessly attracted to him.

With one final kiss Ed sits up and reaches into the drawers for a condom and lube.

Oswald watches, breathless, as Ed rises to his knees above Oswald as he pours lube over his fingers, first slicking Oswald up before adding more and reaching behind himself.

Oswald wishes he could see it better, watch Ed’s fingers at work as he opens himself up, but instead follows Ed’s hand and brushes over those long, dexterous fingers.  Ed glances over, seeming surprised.

“Can I?” Oswald asks, watching Ed’s eyes widen, watching him nod and use his free hand to all but shove the bottle of lube in Oswald’s.

Oswald has never touched himself so intimately, and instead bases his movements on how Ed’s fingered him open; he slides one finger in alongside Ed’s and watches Ed twitch and gasp, thighs trembling as he keeps himself braced above Oswald.  It’s fascinating; Ed’s warm and tight inside, clenching and unclenching around the digit.

“Right…right there,” Ed tells him, pulling his finger out and guiding Oswald’s movements, coaxing him to add two.  Oswald watches his face as he hooks them as best as he can towards Ed’s stomach and watches, amazed, as Ed lurches forward. He does so again, sliding his fingers out most of the way before pushing them back in, mimicking Ed’s movements until Ed grabs Oswald’s wrist again.  He’s already sweating, already open-mouthed and panting and utterly gorgeous, and Oswald withdraws his fingers, settles back as Ed tears open the condom wrapper.

Oswald can’t say he likes the feel of the latex but he can forget it at even the slightest pressure of Ed’s hand around him, slicking up the condom before setting the lube back on the nightstand, or of watching Ed position himself over Oswald’s cock and hold him in place as he slowly starts to sink down.

 

Ed has experimented with his own body often; he knows how it feels to finger himself, had a toy way back when as well.  He knew, reasonably, that a person is different from fingers, from a simple plug, but intellectualizing something is different from experiencing it.

Sinking down, inch by inch, Ed feels himself tremble as he braces one hand on Oswald’s stomach, the other on his good leg.  He doesn’t register his own voice as he whimpers, head falling forward, legs shaking as he gradually takes more and more of Oswald inside of him until he’s fully seated, ass flush against Oswald’s hips.

Of _course_ it would be different; Oswald’s cock pulses inside of him, his hands sliding across Ed’s thighs and resting at the V of his hips and he’s warm and alive and nearly overwhelming.  Ed has to shut his eyes against the near overstimulation, needs to sit still to get used to the sensation of someone—not something—filling him up. 

After a moment he opens his eyes and watches Oswald’s face—wide-eyed and open-mouthed—gaping up at him as if in wonder, and Ed sighs and rocks his hips experimentally, shifting in Oswald’s lap, and that alone sends a shiver through him, causes Oswald to gasp. 

He keeps his gaze focused on Oswald’s bright eyes as he slowly raises himself up on Oswald’s cock and slides back down, gasping and tightening his grip on Oswald’s leg as he does so.  This is…intense.  Not quite painful but too much for him to fuck himself on Oswald just yet, and instead he shifts and circles his hips, adjusting to every new sensation with every part of his insides feeling touched, and almost grinning when Oswald arches underneath him with hands tightening on his upper thighs and his hips rocking up into Ed’s movements.

 

Ed is unbearably beautiful on top of him.  That alone would make this incredible, watching Ed roll his hips before rising and falling with breathy moans, pupils dilated and graceful back arched as he rides him.  As it stands, he _feels_ utterly heavenly, tight and hot and velvety soft, and Oswald braces his legs as well as he can to rock up into Ed, following his movements.

Ed’s careful, analytical for the first couple of minutes, adjusting his position, and Oswald is content to let him lead, enjoying every sensation, every harsh breath spilling from Ed’s lips before he stutters and moans, eyes closed, and starts fucking himself on Oswald’s cock in earnest.

“Good?” Ed asks, his voice rough.

“ _Amazing_ ,” Oswald replies, and Ed moans in reply, grinding down onto him.

The sound of skin slapping skin is loud, almost obscene, and yet Oswald can’t get enough of it, of feeling himself disappear again and again into the man on top of him.  He brings one hand from Ed’s hips to traverse across his stomach; fingertips brush over the exit wound from that old scar, one that feels as though it came from a life before this one, and up along Ed’s chest, pressing his palm above Ed’s heart, feeling its rapid beat.

Oswald tries to follow Ed’s rhythm, feverish and almost rough, and is close—so fucking close—when Ed takes his hand from its position braced on Oswald’s stomach to start jerking himself off, his movements never faltering.  In the half-light sweat glows on Ed’s fair skin and his lips and cheeks are tinged pink and he’s so utterly uninhibited and lovely Oswald is sure he’s never seen anything sexier.

“That’s it,” Oswald manages, hands sliding along Ed’s flanks.  “You’re _perfect_.”

Ed comes immediately with a choked sob, spilling over Oswald’s stomach and faltering, chest heaving, the muscles in his stomach and thighs spasming, before pitching forward and resting his weight on Oswald’s body.

Oswald, whatever frustration he might feel in his own delayed climax, just loves the feeling of Ed’s chest against his, arms bracketing his shoulders and lips trailing over his jaw even as he attempts to regain his breath.  He wraps his arms around Ed’s waist and pulls Ed’s head back to properly kiss him, stealing Ed’s faltering breath.

They stay like that a few moments, Oswald still hard, still buried inside of Ed, before Ed speaks.

“Will your leg be okay if you get on top?” he asks, pressing his forehead to Oswald’s. 

Oswald nods, pressing one more kiss to Ed’s lips.  “For a few minutes, yes.”

Ed immediately pulls back, grips Oswald’s shoulders, and flips them over.  Oswald manages to regain his senses as Ed draws those long—God, _impossibly_ long legs back to his chest, his knees digging into Oswald’s ribcage and his eyes blazing as he lays back and gives the simple command, “ _Fuck me_.”

Oswald does; he finds his own rhythm of quick snaps of his hips as he thrusts into Ed, seeking his own release.

“ _You’re brilliant_ ,” he tells Ed as he fucks into him.  “ _You’re beautiful_.”

Ed moans, eyes shut as he clings to Oswald, fingertips digging into Oswald’s shoulder blades.

“ _There’s never been anyone like you_ ,” Oswald adds, watching Ed twitch and gasp at every word, and wanting Ed to believe every one.  “ _There never will be_.”  He grips Ed’s thigh and pulls it closer towards him, angling to thrust deeper and causing Ed to bow and arch and cry out under him, clench around him, and Oswald comes, hips stuttering, breath gone, as he follows Ed into a post-coitus near-stupor.

Ed holds onto him, Oswald realizes, as he rests his weight on him and presses his lips to Ed’s shoulder before shifting to pull out.  Ed immediately grips him tighter. 

“Stay inside of me a little longer,” he says, and Oswald sighs against the crux of his neck.  As if he’d deny him.  His leg will hurt, but when does it not?

“C’mere,” Ed continues, and shifts them to their sides; his leg hooks over Oswald’s hip, and it’s not terribly comfortable, but it’s intimate, and that moment feels utterly right.  Oswald strokes along Ed’s sweaty back, his hip, wondering if they could stay like this forever.  After a few moments, Ed says, softly, “ _Wow_.”

Oswald laughs, buries his face in Ed’s chest.  “ _Yeah_ ,” he agrees.

A few more moments pass; neither wants to part from the other.  Oswald's utterly spent; he can't quite reach Ed's lips in this position and instead presses kisses to Ed's throat, the crux of his neck.

"I love you," he says softly, a sigh against Ed's warm skin.

Ed strokes his hand over Oswald's back, the movement languid and easy as he leans in and kisses Oswald's temple.  "I love you too," he replies.  

Oswald doesn’t know how much time passes before he slips out of Ed and haplessly tosses the spent condom into the wastebasket by the bed and waddles over to the bathroom for a clean washcloth.  He doesn’t ask the obvious question, _Did you realize how viscerally affected you were by praise and compliments?  Or have they come so rarely you couldn’t have known?_

Regardless, he’ll praise Ed to the very end, make sure he knows how much Oswald thinks of him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about including Fish in a side-plot, but for the purposes of pacing and keeping to the theme of Ed and Oswald's romantic arc, and mentions of the romantic arcs of friends and peers of theirs, I think if I do write her story it would be in a separate piece.


End file.
